


Heroics On A Smaller Scale

by afteriwake



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's what they mean to each other that gets them through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroics On A Smaller Scale

**Author's Note:**

> Set after "Charge of This Post" but some parts flash back to events in "All Access."

He had come up behind her, silently, his arms going around her, his arms pinning hers against her body. And that was when she had collapsed. That was when she had broken down and sobbed and finally, _finally_ started to let go. Only moments before she had been hitting the boxing bag with an increased volley of swift punches, trying to keep up conversation as he had watched, and then it had shifted, and she was angry and the force behind the punches increased and she had turned to him...

He hadn't held her just to keep from getting hit by her. He held her because it was right, professional ethics be damned. She was his friend, and she needed him, and she needed a safe place to let out everything she'd been feeling.

And he would provide it.

\---

She had to hold his fist, pull his arm down to his side; it was either do that or get between his fist and the wall and pray he didn't deliver another hit. She'd never seen him so angry before, not even after the last few weeks of one hellish incident after another.

She could feel him relax, just a little, enough for her to push her fingers between his still closed but not as tightly closed fist. She could feel the pads of her fingers touch the palm of his hand. She was pressed up behind him; she hadn't meant to invade his personal space so much but he needed to stop hitting the wall. There hadn't been anything he could do, and he was doing what he could now, and that did _not_ include breaking parts of his hand on a brick wall, in her opinion.

She could feel the tension drain out of him, her chest pressed to his back as her free hand wrapped around to give him a rather awkward hug and her chin went to rest on his shoulder. She was sure it wasn't comfortable but there wasn't much else to do...

He wouldn't let go of her hand.

\---

It wasn't that he'd never toyed with the idea of the two of them together. Not when he was married; he'd loved his wife too much to hurt her that way. And after Claire had died, there was the consideration that he was her boss at the labs, that he outranked her as a detective. There were a few very good reasons not to pursue any type of relationship with her outside of an extremely close friendship.

And they were good reasons; logical reasons that he, as a scientist, could understand and accept. He didn't like them, but he could accept them.

The logic those reasons had offered, and the cold acceptance of that logic...that had shattered the night he had to process her apartment. He'd sat on her bed and thought long and hard. Not about the evidence; truth be told, that was the last thing on his mind. No, he thought about the moment he had seen her on the floor, bloody and unconscious, and how he had prayed. Really prayed, for the first time in ages.

He prayed she wasn't dead. He prayed she wasn't dying. He prayed she wasn't hurt badly and he prayed most of the blood wasn't hers. He prayed she wasn't in pain and...he prayed. He just prayed.

He felt so damn helpless in that instant, until she stirred and asked about Frankie. And if at all possible, he felt that in that moment, his broken and shattered faith had been restored. His prayers had been answered.

\---

She took him home. Her home, the same home that she had gone back to after the shooting and just couldn't stay at. She'd checked herself into a hotel that night and the next day found he was waiting for her outside the hotel with the offer to pay for the room as long as she needed it, the same offer he'd made outside the hospital. Why he wasn't at work or even how he'd known she was there...she hadn't asked. She'd just nodded and let him take care of her in the best way he knew how.

She eventually went home. The crime scene cleaning crew had come in and he had supervised the work himself. There was a beautiful new rug on the floor in front of her bed, the statue had been taken away. She had been sure both was his doing. But, once again, she didn't ask.

She just didn't need to.

And he'd let her drag him away from the hospital without asking why, without asking where they were going, without questioning anything about why she was doing what she was doing. There was complete trust there, and there was no need for questions when there was trust.

She didn't talk about unimportant things on the cab ride to her home; she stayed as silent as he was, and he appreciated it.

\---

He'd never thought of all the things that had happened lately in a "I've been through so much, can't I get a break?" way because that wasn't his way. That bit of faith that had been restored the day she was hurt was still there, and he knew there was a reason for everything that had happened. Once again, it was one of those "I accept it, but I don't like it" deals, but that was the way life went.

He let her lead him up to her apartment. He hadn't let go of her hand since the hospital, really, except to hold it in a more comfortable manner: palm to palm, heel of hand to heel of hand, fingers still entwined. There had been a comfort in the feeling he'd gotten, knowing she was so close. No matter how bad the world got, as long as she was around, there was always a chance they'd both pull through...

It was only when she'd shut the door behind them that he felt something else: an amazing sense of calm. In this small apartment, everything would be okay, whatever came of the night. And he was willing to wait and see what happened and not immediately stop anything because ethics or cold, hard logic dictated otherwise.

"You know," she said quietly, "when I came too and you were there? I swear to God I thought you were here to rescue me." She smiled at him, not the fake and brittle smile she'd had on every other time the incident had been mentioned, but a real smile. Small, but real.

"You'd already saved yourself," he said, his fingers moving slightly over their still clasped hands.

"I know." She looked down at their hands. "When I saw you outside the hospital, I... You were going to hurt yourself if you kept hitting that brick. I'm surprised you didn't hurt anything already."

He nodded. "Getting me out of there was probably the smartest thing to do."

"But bringing you here?" she asked, just a little hesitantly.

He took a step towards her, closing the gap. "Also the smartest thing to do."

The smile widened and her eyes registered shock for only a minute before they shone brightly. There wasn't a need to say anything else, to ask any more questions. There would be time for all that later. Right now, the two of them would share a moment, brought about by heroics on a small scale: brought about by what they did for each other out of the love they had for each other.


End file.
